


A Soldier Grows

by babaileymay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, End Game Stucky, F/M, Fluff, Great Depression, Growing Up, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-08 02:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babaileymay/pseuds/babaileymay
Summary: Everything that can happen in life happens, and from a young age, Steve Rogers learns this. With each happening, you gain wisdom, and lose a bit of yourself. Steve never thought this was particularly fair.ON HIATUS - Just don't feel like writing for this rn but I will get back to it one day





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based loosely off of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

If Gerritsen Beach Brooklyn could be described in one word it would be somber. With sadness leaking through the cracks of each window and door, one couldn’t help but feel broken. Especially on this Monday afternoon, Irishmen trudging out to find a speakeasy and their wives returning with hollow faces. Yes, life was somber indeed. 

As the winds picked up, the cold spread throughout the house of one Steve Rogers. It was too cold for the frail boy. Even wrapped in blankets life was too biting for him. Steve, sat alone, shivered. Only 10, but he knew the harshness of the winters. Cold has stolen his brother from life. Steve, himself, is a degree away from joining him.

It was the year 1930, and winter has come to Brooklyn early; as if the weather was there to punish the Irish tenements. “You don’t belong here” it would whisper, shaking the windows with cold. Despite this, more and more tenements seeped into the old houses. Poor people seeking refuge in small rooms. These rooms sometimes lacked windows, or were only 5 by 5 feet. Steve was lucky, his room had a window. His mother had begged the landlord for the sake of her son's asthma. 

Steve knew she wouldn’t have begged if his brother didn’t die before. He knew he was all she had left.  
For Steve, this window was a blessing. You could look out and watch the people go about their business. Boys his age would throw balls and pick on girls. Men would go in and out of the speakeasy hidden under the Jones’ laundromat. Woman walked with their children in strollers, bags under their eyes. 

Steve could watch the whole world from his window. For that he was thankful. Sometimes, when money wasn’t as sacred as it usually is, Sarah Rogers would bring her son paper.  
“It’s not up to me to tell you what to do with it,” she would say “This is yours to have. No one else’s.” Then she would look at her son triumphantly, and walk off.  
Steve always drew. Every day after school he would go home and draw what he saw from his window. He would always give the best to his mother. Always. 

Steve debated whether he should draw. The winter was setting in and it was a rare opportunity to sketch the ice crawling up the window. The ice was a sign he shouldn’t. Instead, he dragged himself into his sorry excuse for a kitchen.  
The room had a stove, an oven, and a rusty water heater. He inched himself as close to the heater as he dared and warmed his shaking hands. 

The building moaned as the winds from the piers pushed themselves against the walls. Outside color began to fade away. Trees lost their last red leaves. People wore black to match the drab world. It was as if Brooklyn itself was shedding its last colorful leaves for something more fitting.  
There were still a few bold people strutting the streets wearing bright, oriental colors. Steve drew them the most.  
The sun had just set when Mama came home. She walked into the room holding a small, brown bag. Her blonde hair was unkempt. The jacket she wore was seemingly put on in a rush.  
Steve could tell she stole today. Usually, she comes home looking just as put together as when she left. Sometimes, though, she comes back like returning from a war. She has raw liver. 

It wasn’t unknown that Steve was sick. People who believed in eugenics often made fun of his genes. His inferior genes allowed him to get this sick. Asthma, anemia, and scoliosis were only a few examples of the burdens Steve carried. The burdens his mother must care for. When money was tight and her son was too weak to get out of bed, she had to turn to stealing. She didn’t like it, having to work two jobs but still be too poor to afford anything for him. Mrs. Rogers picked up a job at a textile factory in Hell’s Kitchen alongside nursing. It seemed this wasn't enough. She steals raw liver from the hospital to feed to her son. This was the only way to help his anemia, and she would do it forever if it kept her last piece of her family alive.

If the Rogers were anything it was resilient. Through everything, Mama and Steve had survived. Together, they could do anything. They had lived without food, without a home, without Johnny. Although, the loss of his brother left a hole in their hearts. A hole that couldn’t be filled or closed as the loss of Steve’s Papa had. Through it all, though, Steve had his mother.  
He was very thankful for her.  
As she entered the small apartment, she locked the door behind her. Mama smiled tiredly at her son, handing him the brown bag with a sigh. She could hear the winter tickling the building as Steve could. 

Sometimes Steve wished he had died instead of his brother. Maybe then his Mama wouldn't have to work so hard. She was too young to be so worn. Only 30, but her honey hair has gray hiding in its ranks. Her brown eyes are tired, but hold the kindness nurses should. Irishmen on the block often whisper of the tragedy that is Sarah Roger’s life. 

Her husband, a drunkard, leaves her with two boys and a kiss on her cheek to fight in a war. He comes back in a casket. For their loss, the two boys and their mother get a medal. A year later they have to melt it down and sell it. Their mom picked up another job soon after that.

“It’s only temporary,” she had said to them. Steve knows now that it was not.  
As Steve quietly forces the raw liver down his throat, Mama starts to scrounge up things for dinner. The cupboards are nearly empty. Not an uncommon occurrence, but every time it brought a little more fear into Steve’s heart. Strangely enough, peanut butter was always in the cupboards.It was cheap everywhere, and a great source of protein. Even the poorest of the poor could afford a jar. 

Mama set the bread covered in peanut butter in front of her son.  
“Did you do anything today?” She asked, her voice gentle.  
“No, Ma’am.”  
“No?”  
“No,” Steve awkwardly replied. The wind beat harder on the window. He inched himself closer to the water heater.  
“Well today someone from the Yankees came into my clinic today,” Mama said.  
Steve gave a small smile to Mama, then looked back down at his now empty plate. They both sat in silence until it was time for bed.

Steve used to love baseball before his brother died. They would hobble down to the baseball park, and Steve would cheer for his brother as he played with the other boys. Steve could never play, he was too sick. He would always trail behind his brother in three layers of clothes, wrapped in a scarf to keep away cold.  
“You boys stay out of the alleys you hear?” Their mother would say as they raced down the stairs.  
“Yes, Mama!”  
Johnny and Stevie would run until Steve had to stop and gasp for breath. After that, they walked the rest of the way to the trashy baseball field. Slowly, the boys from the neighborhood began to gather around the same field. It was a neighborhood ordeal, baseball. Boys from all around came to play, hoping to get scouted for the Yankees. If any man in a suit would pass by, all of them would straighten their backs, put on a show. None of them were particularly good. Steve thought they were all kind of bad, actually. But he wouldn’t dare say that. He didn’t want to be rude without reason.  
“Really, Johnny? Bringing your wussy sister with you?” A cruel boy said, looking at Steve. All the boys had stopped to watch the drama unfold. Johnny always defended his baby brother against bullies. It wasn’t uncommon that the four-year-old Steve would have to waddle home with is brother limping behind him.

“You know full well he’s a boy, Dan. Or are you as dumb as you are ugly?” Johnny had replied with spite. Steve’s chest puffed up a bit at that.  
Dan squinted at Johnny and started to ball up his fists,  
“What did you call me?”  
“You heard me, bully.”  
Steve tugged lightly at Johnny’s shirt. Johnny turned to him, grabbed his hand, and started to walk off.  
“Come on Stevie, we’ll go play with people who aren’t assholes.”  
The two boys began their trudge home, but not before Johnny knocked Dan’s shoulder so hard he stumbled.

Years later, when Steve was an adult, he would reminisce on that moment when his brother stood up against a bully. Maybe that was the catalyst for how he acted later in life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky meet.

When Steve walked the streets of Brooklyn with Mama, men would look the other way. If he hadn’t been there, Steve thought, they would be all over her. She was beautiful, young, and healthy enough to bear children. Seeing her son, though, starving with sickness haunting him, they looked away. People did not dare bother the woman with the broken son. 

Just because Steve was sick, didn’t mean he wasn’t feisty.   
___

Bucky had been told Steve Rogers was dying. He believed it, too. The boy had an aura of sickness around him wherever he went. The blush in his cheeks was never the right shade of pink and his fingertips always blue. His eyes were hollow and glazed over. Yes, Bucky thought, Steve Rogers was dying. 

Maybe that’s why he was so surprised to see him sucker punch a kid twice his size in the schnoz. 

In an alley, three or four boys stood staring at the small blond in shock. Bucky stopped to get a good glance.   
“Oh you've done it now you bastard,” the boy cried. He held his nose, trying to keep blood from dripping.   
“I ain’t scared of you,” said Steve, lifting his fists to block his face.   
“You should be, wussy.”  
The three boys snarled. The boys grouped up around Steve and started kicking him. Bucky’s eyes widened in shock. Should he step in and help the boy? Should he walk along like he didn't see anything?  
A sickening crunch broke him out of his thoughts. Well, it’s now or never. 

“Hey! Do you wanna stop being asses or you gonna get beat?” Bucky’s hollering attracted the attention of the three boys.   
The one that appeared to be the leader squinted at him. “What’s it to ya? You don't own these streets.”  
Bucky smirked “Yeah, but my Papa is a cop. How would your mamas feel if a copper showed up at their door and told them about you beating on kids?”  
The three stooges glanced at each other. They seemed to telepathically mull it over with each other before the tallest one - the leader- stepped away from Steve and started walking away. “Let's go, boys. This is boring.” His minions nodded and followed at his heels out of the alley and down the street. 

“Hey, you’re Steve, right?” Bucky asked, reaching to help the boy up.   
“You know I could have taken them myself. You didn’t have to help. I can beat bullies like them.” Steve began to rant about how he hated when people would dive in to save him. How just because he was skinny, didn’t mean he wasn’t strong.   
“Ya know,” Bucky started, looking down with a squint “A thank you would be nice.”  
Steve knew what he should say, but he was a stubborn kid. “I’m not thanking you. Like I said… I could’ve handled it myself.”   
“I’ll pretend I believe ya.” 

Steve scowled at the boy, but amusement danced in his eyes. The pair drifted out of the dirty alley and strolled down Gerritsen Avenue. The blond wasn’t so bad, Bucky thought. Sure he had to stop walking to wheeze, and he walked slower than other kids, but he was lively. He spoke like he had lived a million lives. He held himself like his sickness was just sheeps clothes for the lion inside. Bucky wanted to stick around to see the lion break loose. 

“Hey, are you even listening to me?”   
“Yeah, something about them Irishmen on your block.”  
“No! I was askin you about why you helped- I mean ruined my fight with those boys back there.”  
Bucky shrugged “Dunno. I just don't think its fair to let one kid try to take on the world alone.”  
“Kid? I’m the same age as you, jerk.”  
“You’re a punk,” Bucky said with a smile on his lips. 

This was the beginning of an excellent relationship. 

In their later years, while Steve was sick in bed or they were feeling nostalgic about those moments that began their friendship.   
Even through the worst of times, they stuck together. When Sarah Rogers died, when Bucky’s mama died, when the world broke and went to war they remained Steve and Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos and comments if you'd like. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's mother dies.

When Steve was younger and the world was warmer, he thought his family was perfect. He had a beautiful mother, with blonde hair cascading around her face and eyes so blue you could dive into them. His father was brave and kind. His big brother was the best in the world. 

They had lived in Bay Ridge before his father went off to war. It was another Irish neighborhood in Brooklyn, where everyone knew everyone and loved their small world. Their apartment was small but homely. It looked like a worn down building, but inside was what really counted. Inside each of the rooms had a full window and grand wooden flooring. When you entered the home it smelt like mahogany and aftershave. 

Steve thought his house was the best in the world.  
Then his father left for the war, life became colder, and Johnny fought the bullies.  
His brother and father died within six years.

A world can come crashing down at any moment, and Steve was an example of that. He had lost half his family in six years.

After losing his brother, Mama would always hold Steve tighter. Maybe she was afraid if she didn’t, he’d fly up to heaven too. 

On the worst nights, Steve stayed up with her.  
“In order to grow, you must let go of the past,” she would whisper in his ear as tears would stream down his cheeks. He wanted to ask why he couldn’t hold onto the past, let it stay with him a little longer. He didn’t, though. He didn’t want his mother to cry harder. She had lost too much to linger on it. 

Mama was resilient if anything. Steve learned that from her, and he carried it with him throughout his life, letting his strength reflect in the way he set his shoulders and held his jaw.  
On a cold December night, though, Steve’s strength had left him. Why keep strength when the person you kept it for was dead?

Mama lived through the worst life could throw. She had lost things she had held most dear and broke herself working to keep the last bit of family she had from biting the dust. Every person who knew her loved her. Mama was an angel sent from above. Steve was forever grateful for her.

What he wasn’t grateful for was losing her. 

___

Steve was painting when the first signs had shown up. 

It was a small cough at first. His mama had said it was nothing, just a small cold. She promised she would be fine.  
Steve knew she wouldn’t be fine when three weeks later the cough had gotten worse. Sometimes she would even cough up blood.  
“Tuberculosis,” the doctor had said, looking at Sarah Rogers. 

Mama died three days later.  
She had stayed at the hospital those nights, not daring to go home and infect her son.  
“Your mother is dead. Best to call your insurance company,” the doctor said.  
“If we caught her illness sooner she would have lived,” he added before shutting the door behind him. Steve never forgave himself after that. If he had made her check on herself when she first started coughing she would be alive. 

Yet again Steve had outlived the people greater than him. 

An undertaker contacted Steve hours later.  
“What I look for is to bring you comfort in this time of great... Ah.. agony.” The Undertaker went on to explain the process of the funeral and how to pay for it. Steve just stood there, numb. Since he was told his mother was dead, he had not been able to process it. Bucky came to the hospital right away, wanting to help his friend.  
“You can live with me, Stevie. You don’t have to be alone.” Bucky said all the right things but all Steve really wanted was to be alone. 

When he had got off the telephone- a simple funeral had been planned, Steve couldn’t afford much else- Steve went back to the hospital. He was taken to the doctor's office to sign the death certificate. Under cause of death, tuberculosis was written. Steve found it cruel, how the certificate amounted his mother's life to its end. The certificate said nothing of her kindness, compassion, or beauty. Nothing was written about how she continued to endure the worst only to be taken out by something so ridiculous. The certificate enraged Steve. It reminded him that he was the last Rogers and that he didn’t deserve to be alive. If his mother is dead, why wasn't he?

Was it a twisted plan of God? A joke for only the angels? Was God laughing at him now? 

The priest said a prayer with Steve before exiting the room. The doctor filed the paper away before saying “I’ve seen too much of your family come through here, boy. Don’t be the next.” With that, he walked out of the room. 

The mass was quiet. Hundreds of flowers filled the room and wrapped around the coffin where his Mama lay. Patients and coworkers of Mama came up to him, told him how amazing she was and how they couldn’t believe she was gone. 

In the coffin, his mom looked like she was only sleeping. It was as if he could shake her and she would wake. He knew she wouldn’t, so he left her alone. 

Bucky stood at Steve’s side the entire ceremony. He would send concerned glances Steve’s way and loom over those who stayed too long. 

Steve, Bucky, and Bucky’s mother were the only ones in attendance for the burial. 

When it was all over, Steve looked at Bucky, eyes blank. “It should have been me, Buck.”  
___

Bucky’s mom had insisted on Steve moving in with her family. Steve may have been 18, but there was no way for him to care for himself. Because of this, Steve moved in with the Barnes’ family. 

“‘M happy you're moving in, Steve,” Bucky had said.  
Steve smiled for the first time since his mom died. “Me too, Buck.”

___

Three weeks later, Steve was back to his normal self. To someone that didn’t know him, they would think he had gotten over his loss. To James Buchanan Barnes, though, he could see the light in Steve’s eyes wasn't as bright. 

The two were sitting in the living room after mass. Steve looked up from his drawing and at Bucky.

“Hey, Buck?”  
“Yes?”  
“Thank you for coming with me.”

Bucky smiled at Steve. "Sure thing, pal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comment if you liked. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve's friendship when they were kids and now.

Steve was sick. This wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence. With the number of health problems he had, he was bound to be slightly ill. Steve had got a common cold. Sure, this was harmless to those who weren't plagued with ailments, but Steve was having a bit of a hard time fighting this one off.   
Bucky, of course, was worried. He had seen his friend sick before, but he never had to fix it. Sarah would always coddle Steve in their small apartment until the boy was better. Now, though, Sarah was gone and Bucky had to take care of him.

Steve didn't like the idea of his friend caring for him at first. He had already taken so much from the man and now asked for more. Steve knew how much of a burden he was to Bucky, and didn't want to make it worse.   
“You’re not a burden, Steve,” he had said. “You’re sick, yeah, but not a burden,” he looked Steve in the eyes and said, louder, “You’re my best bud, can’t let you hit the dust because of a cold.”

Steve didn’t say anything on the manner after that. 

“You know, you’re less scrawny now.”  
“It’s your mom’s cooking. I think she plans on fattening me up before the year is over,” Steve quipped, smiling.   
Bucky snorted. “You say that like its a bad thing.”  
“It could be. What if she plans on cooking me soon? Ever heard of Hansel and Gretel?”  
“Hansel and Gretel? Which one are you?”  
“I’m Hansel,” Steve stopped talking, coughed, then continued. “You can be Gretel.”   
“Bold assumption. You sure you’re not Gretel?”  
“Jerk.”  
“Punk.”

Bucky goes to the kitchen to attempt to pry open a can of beans. Sure, it wasn’t the best food for a cold, but they were fresh out of soup. While he cooked it on the stove, Steve wandered into the kitchen then pressed his head against Bucky’s back. Bucky turned around and pulled Steve into a hug. 

“You and my Mom, you’re all I’ve got, Steve,” he whispered into the blond’s hair. “Don’t go leaving me because of a cold.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky in return. 

“Nothing and no one can make you lose me.”

“ ‘Til the end of the line?”  
“ “Til the end of the line.”

They stood like that until the beans burnt.

___

After a week, Steve got better. Unfortunately, this meant he had more time on his hands. Steve had a sense for trouble no one else had, and it often led him into fist fights ending with him bleeding and panting for breath.   
Ever since he was small, he tried to fight the bullies. Even when Johnny said to let it go, or Bucky tried to pull him away he would fight. He didn’t like bullies.   
This is exactly why Steve was found in an alley on 86th street.   
A police officer has gotten a tip about a suspicious noise and followed it. With this tip the cop found one Steve Rogers resting in a heap of trash. His eyes were swollen shut and he was groaning.   
When Bucky came bursting through the precinct door he was angry. Steve felt guilty. 

“Why do you always stir up trouble like this? Why can’t you just keep your head down? You’re gonna be found dead one of these days!” Bucky screamed at Steve. The officers turned their heads, ignoring the quarrel.   
“I ain't-a coward, Buck.”  
“This isn't about being a coward, it’s about you getting hurt.”  
“Well, I can't just sit back and watch while people are hurt.”  
“Oh,” seethed Bucky “So when other people get harmed it’s unacceptable but when it's you that's dandy?!”  
“I didn’t say that,” Steve grumbled.   
“That’s what I’m hearin’.”  
“You ain’t my Mama, Buck. You’re not my hero. You don’t have to be here, you don’t have to help you. You ain’t family. ‘Fact you’re nothing to-” Steve realized mistake before he even finished his sentence.   
Bucky frowned. “I’m nothing to what, Steve?”  
“You’re nothin to me, Buck. You aren’t family. The family I had is 6 feet under.” 

The precinct was silent. The quiet was thick enough to slice it. For a moment, the brunette stared at his best friend, as if shocked he could think such a thing.

"Sometimes, I feel like..." Bucky sighed as he rustled around in his spot. After a few moments of dead air, his voice echoed through the room "Maybe you would've been safer if I left you in that alley, Stevie. If I never met you. Maybe… maybe you wouldn’t have as much fight left.”   
Steve stared at his shoes.   
“Buck I-” he started.  
“No. Come back home when you get the balls to apologize.” 

With that, Bucky saluted the officers and walked out. 

___  
Steve sat inside the precinct. After Bucky had stormed off he brought himself deep into his own head. He did that often. When things got too much he would hide in his memories and assure himself he could make things better. 

Steve was always a sickly boy, but he had a lion’s heart. His Mama often told him that. She would whisper it to him when he came home with a bloody lip and tangled hair. Mama looked dissapointed when she could tell Steve had been in a fight.   
The day Bucky broke up the fight was no different.   
Steve had shown up with a bruised rib, swollen eyes, and holding the hand of a new friend.   
“Steve, darling, who’s this?” She looked at the boy with uncertainty, like he was a rare creature that had waltzed into her apartment.   
“James Buchanan Barnes, ma’am. But you can just call me Bucky.” The boy help out his hand for the woman to shake.   
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, sweetheart.”  
“Bucky is my best friend,” Steve chimed in, puffing his chest.  
“Well if you are best friends, surely you know why he looks all roughed up?”  
“It’s nothin’ Mama. Honest.” Steve said just as Bucky began to dive into his story.   
“I saw Steve gettin’ all roughed up by some kids an-” Steve slapped his hand over his friend's mouth, and smiled. “Like I said, it ain’t nothin.”

Bucky seemed to finally get the hint and vigorously nodded. “Yeah, Miss Rogers. Nothin’.”  
Steve, satisfied with the answer, looked back at Mama.   
“If you’re sure…” Mama said.

Bucky was invited over for dinner that night. The two children doodled on Steve’s paper as Mama made dinner.   
“What is that?” Steve asked Bucky, leaning over his paper.  
“It’s a sea monster. I read ‘bout them in a book once. They eat up pirates!”  
Steve gushed over the drawing, and soon they had taken to playing pretend as pirates and sea monsters.

It was easier when they were seven. Both Bucky and Steve were recklessly brave and thought they were invincible. Thought they would be best friends forever. Steve was no longer so sure. 

Steve had wandered out of the precinct.   
He was too deep in his thoughts to realize where he was until he realized he had stopped. He was in front of Bucky’s apartment. Steve shut his eyes and sighed.   
He lifted his hand to the door, about to knock when the door swung open.   
“Steve?”  
“Bucky I’m-”  
“I know.”

They stood there awkwardly.   
“I don’t mean to do it to hurt you. I don’t fight to make you mad. I jus’ can’t sit there and watch while others are hurt.”  
“I understand, but you can't go around doing that without me no more. We aren’t kids getting tussled up. You could get beat to your grave.”  
“I know.”  
“Just promise me something, Stevie.”  
Steve nodded, looking up at his friend. In his eyes, he saw the softness from when they were only kids. The Bucky that called him pigheaded on the Wonder Wheel. The Bucky that said they’d fight together because that’s what friends are for.   
“Don’t die on me.”  
“You won't be losing me that easy,” Steve said. Bucky stepped aide, letting him walk in, and shut the door.   
“Oh, and one more thing,” Bucky quipped, smile in his voice. “You’re cleaning the bathroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments. Hope you liked it. Tried to make it less depressing. Ciao!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a Comment or Kudos if you liked it :)


End file.
